


Dreaming of Ghosts

by ant5b



Category: DuckTales (Cartoon 2017)
Genre: Extended Duck Family, Grief/Mourning, Kid Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-24
Updated: 2017-10-24
Packaged: 2019-01-22 13:27:04
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,401
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12482660
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ant5b/pseuds/ant5b
Summary: But it wasn’t a month spent chasing rumors of treasure in Peruvian jungles, or scouring a long lost city that had him up, exhausted and pacing in his study at the very latest hour of the night. No, it was because he’d left town for a week on business and come back to find that his youngest sister and her husband were dead.





	Dreaming of Ghosts

Donald woke in a cold sweat with the realization that he couldn’t remember what his parents looked like. 

The bedroom his uncle had led him to felt cavernous in the dark, the shadows in the corners shifting and twisting before his eyes into monstrous shapes. Donald brought his blankets up to cover his face, shivering in cold and fear, attempting to banish the ghosts that had followed him out of his dream. 

Beneath the warmth of his blankets, the duckling began to calm piecemeal. But the scar on his forehead began to ache, and he recalled with chilling clarity the nightmare that had awoken him. 

Just above his eyebrow, nearly hidden by regrown feathers, was his only physical reminder of the accident. Della broke her arm, and now bore a plain cast made colorful by everyone’s signatures. The nurse at the hospital said his scar might still hurt sometimes, and it did, pulsating to the tune of his heart as if it were bruised. Now it ached fiercely, always worse when he thought of his parents. 

He’d dreamt they were back in the car, driving past the coast. Donald remembered the dichotomy of the cool breeze and the sunlight against his face, and he leaned against the open window, mimicking his mother in the front seat. Della was asleep beside him, and the radio was playing softly, playing a country song that his father knew all the words to. 

And then they were crashing, metal warping and glass breaking and Della was screaming, and Donald just felt cold. His parents turned around in the crushed front seat, and they were faceless. 

Donald ripped the blankets away from him in panic as the nightmare’s claim on him turned into a death grip when he couldn’t remember his father’s voice. It felt as though the memory of his parents were slipping through his fingers like water, impossible to reclaim, and vanishing quicker by the moment. 

He climbed out of bed, dragging one of his blankets behind him and over his shoulders when the night’s chill reached him. The shadows in his room appeared to lengthen as he made for the door, but he resolutely ignored them with well practiced stubbornness. 

The hall was even colder than his room, but even squares of moonlight illuminated swathes of the floor, making his journey to the bedroom just across from his own less frightening. 

Donald opened the door as quietly as he could, clutching his blanket around his shoulders with one hand. The room was as dark as his had been, but he could hear soft breathing from the bed at the other end. 

He carefully closed the door behind him before whispering, “Della.”

His twin grumbled, but didn’t stir, and Donald approached the bed. He could see the edge of her cast peaking out from beneath the blanket. “Della,” he repeated. 

She finally opened her eyes, blinking groggily at the sight of him in the gloom. “Donnie? What…?”

Without question, Della scooted over to make room for him, and Donald climbed under the blankets beside her, though he kept his own clasping tightly around him. 

More awake now, Della took in his sallow complexion and too wide eyes with concern. 

“Donnie,” she said more strongly, and Donald shuddered, tears welling up in his eyes. 

“I can’t remember Ma and Papa, Dell,” he admitted in hushed panic, guilt and tears making it difficult to speak. “Not Ma’s face, or Papa’s stupid singing —why can’t I  _ remember _ ?”

Della hugged him as well as she able  with the cast on her right arm, and he could feel the hitch in her breathing as she cried too. 

“Donnie, remember when we tried making cookies for Easter?” Della asked once she’d pulled away. At his nod she went on. “And remember how we left them in the oven too long and there was all that smoke?”

Donald sniffed. “ _ You _ left them in the oven too long. You barely let me help.”

Della made a show of rolling her eyes. “Whatever,” she said, and Donald laughed wetly.

“Anyway, you grabbed the fire extinguisher just as Mama and Papa came rushing in, remember that? And you just went nuts, sprayed the whole kitchen with it, and you made them slip and crash into each other.” Della paused, her eyes shining. “Do you remember how Ma laughed? It was that horrible laugh of hers, where she’s just snorting like crazy and can’t speak.” 

Donald nodded, a tearful laugh bubbling out of his chest. “I remember.”

Della hugged him again. “See, you’re not forgetting anything. And if you do, I’ll remind you.”

They lay quietly for a few moments, Donald still sniffling a little, and they stared at the sliver of moonlight that painted a tapestry on the wall silver. 

“Do you think…” Donald began hesitantly. “I mean, Uncle Scrooge wouldn’t mind if we…”

“No, he wouldn’t mind,” Della agreed quickly, unable to hide the tremor in her own voice. She sat up with some effort, Donald propping her up the rest of the way. “Let’s go find Uncle Scrooge.”

Della was confident that she knew where to find their uncle’s bedroom, and she led her brother down the dark hallway with absolute surety. But while that may have been true during the day, the cloak of night made the mansion seem even more massive and labyrinthine, and impossible for the two frightened and tired ducklings to navigate. 

Before long they found themselves lost, clumsily bundled in one large blanket since Della couldn’t carry one herself with her one arm. 

“Maybe we should go back,” Donald suggested as they came upon another hallway identical to those they’d already passed. 

Della huffed in annoyance. “I don’t know which way ‘back’ is anymore. Everything looks the same here.”

“Hey, what about that?” Donald said, pointing at an open doorway. They peered inside and found one of the mansion’s entertainment rooms, complete with a television and comfortable looking couch. 

Donald entered first, leaving his sister to clumsily drag the blanket behind her. 

“I remember this room,” he told her, “I think Uncle Scrooge brought—yes!” 

From the other side of the couch he retrieved a cardboard box that Della also recognized, partly because of their mother’s handwriting on the side. 

_ Family Movies _

Donald retrieved one of the first tapes stacked in the box, squinting against the dark in order to read its label aloud. “Della’s first choir recital.”

“Don’t you dare,” Della joked, only partly serious as she arranged herself on the couch. “See if you can find Papa’s birthday, the most recent one.”

Donald grinned as he fished around inside the box, pausing briefly to flick on a lamp. “Ma finally managed to shove his face in the cake that time.”

Luck was on Donald’s side for once, and he quickly found the tape. He popped it into the VCR, turned the lamp off, and joined his sister on the couch. The twins waited eagerly in the dark for the video to begin, their hands tightly clasped. 

They cried when the first thing they heard was their mother’s voice. 

* * *

Scrooge couldn’t sleep.

After traveling around the world for so long, his circadian rhythm had taken a plunge off the deep end and bid him a fond farewell over a decade ago, and he’d been living with the consequences ever since. 

But it wasn’t a month spent chasing rumors of treasure in Peruvian jungles, or scouring a long lost city that had him up, exhausted and pacing in his study at the very latest hour of the night. No, it was because he’d left town for a week on business and come back to find that his youngest sister and her husband were dead.  

In his youth, Scrooge had worried constantly about being so far from his family with so little contact. He’d feared returning with fortune in hand, but as a stranger. He felt this most strongly with his sisters, who’d been so young when he left, Hortense barely even speaking. But time and time again he would see them, sometimes years in between his visits, and it would be as if he’d never left. Every time Scrooge returned they would rush to him, tackling him with queries and limbs, and it was the best feeling in the world knowing he hadn’t been forgotten. 

Scrooge had been lucky enough to watch his sisters grow into incredibly strong women, kind and ruthless in equal measure. Matilda married a certifiable loon, a mad scientist with more than a few screws loose, but who loved her entirely and whose sought after intellect took them all over the world. Hortense settled into a more domestic lifestyle, which he could never begrudge her, knowing full well how difficult their own childhood had been. It helped that she still joined him on his adventures when the itch arose. 

But Quackmore was a good man, with a temper to match his wife’s, and an excellent father. Scrooge hardly thought twice about hiring him to manage the Bin in his absence, trusting his own instincts and, more importantly, those of his sister. It was a comfort to have family so close, after so many years of separation. 

But now Hortense and Quackmore were dead. 

Scrooge had destroyed his study perhaps thrice now, and set it ruthlessly back in order every time. The first time had been after he received the call, mid morning on a Thursday, from Elvira, her voice brittle as she told him about the car accident, about the twins being held overnight at the hospital for observation and wouldn’t it mean the world to have their Uncle Scrooge there with them?

Scrooge drove to the hospital in the daze, and it was a wonder he didn’t get in an accident himself. He was directed to the twins’ hospital room, and the moment he saw them it felt as though he’d been doused with ice water. 

Donald’s head was bandaged, Della’s arm was in a cast, and they looked as lost as he felt, so small in their hospital beds. 

Donald noticed him first, and promptly burst into tears at the sight of him. Dear Della, always trying to be strong for her brother, mustered a smile that was only a little watery but made Scrooge’s heart break all the same. 

He pulled up a chair in between their beds, alternating between clasping Donald’s hand and smoothing Della’s hair. Scrooge didn’t offer meaningless platitudes or false promises, the kids were too smart besides. He actually said very little, because really, what was there to say? No child should have to lose their parents, especially not at such a young age. His own parents had passed when he was well into adulthood, and still the loss had crushed him. 

But the twins were silent as well, and soon fell into exhausted sleep. Scrooge stayed by their side until Elvira arrived, looking small and drawn. She would be looking after them until proper arrangements could be made, to the relief of Scrooge, who had developed a bout of nerves since reaching the hospital. 

Scrooge returned to the mansion, and the emptiness seemed to swallow him whole. He made it to his study before he snapped, wrecking the room in a display of fury that would’ve done Hortense proud. Books were flung across the room, papers scattered and torn, and chairs upended. He was left feeling weary and spent, still not understanding why Hortense and Quackmore found these temper tantrums so therapeutic. He didn’t even have the energy to drag himself to bed, and sat in the ruin of his office for the rest of the night.

The second time he wrecked his study was after the funeral. 

It was a perfectly pleasant spring afternoon, the sun hanging low in the sky as they gathered around the two graves. Hortense and Quackmore had been well liked, their funeral well attended by friends and coworkers. Matilda and Lugwig had arrived from Moscow the night before, but Matilda had collapsed, sobbing, in the cemetery parking lot, and her husband had gently guided her back to their car. 

Elvira and her family were clustered together, somber and silent. Daphne had her face hidden in Goostave’s shoulder, and Eider stared straight ahead, seeing nothing. The children sat in chairs before them, and they were the most painful to look at. Gladstone was sitting at Donald’s side, clutching one of his cousin’s hands, and Della the other. Donald and Della’s expression were nearly blank, if not for the tears that made intermittent tracks down their cheeks, and their occasional sniffs. 

Scrooge’s grip around his cane was white knuckled for the duration of the funeral, his grief feeling bizarrely unreal and at the same time utterly heartrending. 

Before he could rush back to the familiar, soundless sanctuary that was his mansion, Scrooge stopped to pull the twins into a tight embrace. He needed to remind himself that they were still real, that not everything had been lost in the crash. 

Then he returned home and destroyed his study all over again, because yes, fate was a cruel mistress but did she have to be such a  _ bitch _ ? All he could see were the twin expressions of devastation on Donald and Della’s faces, spurring him to greater heights of misery driven rage. 

The third time he destroyed his study just because he could. 

Donald and Della’s position was still precarious, Social Services breathing down Scrooge and Elvira’s neck. The tentative conclusion they’d come to was that they would live with Elvira during the school year, and with Scrooge during the summer. This gave Elvira time to properly prepare for two more additions to her household, a buffer which Scrooge had no need of with more money and spare rooms than he knew what to do with. 

He and his driver went to Elvira’s to pick up the kids, along with whatever suitcases and boxes she pressed into his hands. They sat quietly for most of the drive, Donald playing some sort of handheld video game and Della, unable to play properly with one hand, providing a running commentary over his shoulder. Eventually she tired of this and turned to Scrooge, asking about his most recent sojourn to Malaysia. 

Whenever Hortense and her family would visit him, Della would request stories of his exploits, begging and pleading when he purposely acted aloof. 

_ “Stop tormenting them and tell the story, Scroogey! You know you want to.” _

But now his avoidance was no act, and he jerkily shook his head. “Not...not now, lass.”

They arrived at the mansion in the early evening, and Duckworth prepared a light dinner for the three of them. Scrooge helped unload a few of the kids’ things, mechanically putting away boxes of his little sister’s keepsakes. 

After dinner both he and the twins were clearly at a loss; should Scrooge tell them to go to bed? Should he set up a curfew? 

Duckworth, as adept at defusing awkward situations as ever, posed a suggestion in his low, British monotone, “Shall I show the children to their rooms, sir?”

“Ah...no, thank you, Duckworth,” Scrooge said haltingly, “I’ll see to that.”

He led Donald and Della to their bedrooms, directly across the hall from each other, and faltered again. 

“I think we’ll go and unpack, Uncle Scrooge,” Della said softly, salvaging his pride. 

“Yes, yes, good idea.”

He wanted to hold them again, to assure them and himself that they were safe and whole, and to remind himself that so was he. It seemed like Donald and Della might’ve wanted that too. But Scrooge did an about-face, and stalked back down the hall. 

Scrooge barricaded himself in his study for the rest of the day, well into the night. He made the usual disaster, leave the formerly pristine room looking like a small hurricane had been unleashed upon it. He didn’t bother cleaning it up just yet, and in order to pace properly he had to kick debris out of his way. 

The pacing and wakefulness were par the course for Scrooge, but he hadn’t gotten a full night’s sleep since receiving the news of Hortense and Quackmore’s passing. It left him feeling both drained and on edge, and weighed down by a deep melancholy. He feared losing what little family he had left, of doing something wrong and having Donald and Della taken from him. Or worse, that they would want to leave, to be as far away from him as possible.

He could already imagine Hortense’s lecture. 

_ Quit being such a bloody dobber, Scrooge! Go to them if you’re so worried! They’re just down the hall, aren’t they? _

Scrooge sighed, running a hand down his face. 

In the morning, he decided. Come morning he would sit down with the kids and have a talk. 

He set his study back in order, and was left feeling even more exhausted, though he knew the blissful escape of sleep was still leagues away from him. 

Scrooge left his study, prepared to lie in bed, tossing and turning till daybreak, when he heard something that didn’t belong with the mansion’s usual nightly noises. All he could pick up was a strange buzzing sort of sound coming from the main wing of the mansion. 

He headed for it, already more alert than he had been moments ago. The most likely culprit was a ghost, considering the sound, and he was in no mood to deal with the supernatural tonight, especially with the kids under his roof. 

The buzzing became more recognizable the closer he got, until he became certain that it was actually the sound of a television. It led Scrooge to one of his TV rooms, where certain enough, the large television was playing. 

Grumbling about the paranormal’s lack of manners and his electric bill, Scrooge made to turn the television off when he heard a voice that chilled him to the bone. 

_ “Alright kids, gather round! Get ready to sing Happy Birthday!” _

Scrooge whirled around to face the television, and felt as though the breath had been knocked out of him as he saw his sister appear on screen. Hortense entered the frame carrying a haphazardly decorated chocolate cake, placing it in front of an amused looking Quackmore. 

_ “What happened to the cake?”  _

Scrooge startled at the sound of his own voice, sounding slightly incredulous in the recording. He remembered feeling surprised because Hortense was usually so fastidious in her cooking. 

_ “The kids wanted to frost it,”  _ Quackmore answered, grinning at the twins sitting on either side of him. 

_ “Hurry up!”  _ Donald enthused. 

_ “Light the candles already!”  _ Della said. 

Quackmore’s last birthday. Scrooge vaguely remembered bringing the box full of tapes, but who—

Scrooge turned around, and there on the couch were his niece and nephew. They’d fallen asleep, sprawled in opposite directions, one large blanket twisted around their legs. Della’s cast was positioned in a way that couldn’t be comfortable, and he moved to rearrange her. 

He tried to be careful, but it seemed Della was a lighter sleeper than he expected. She blinked into wakefulness, groggy and squinting. 

“Uncle Scrooge?”

“Didn’t mean to wake you, lass. Go back to sleep,” he murmured, and made to move away. Della clutched his sleeve with her free hand, and Scrooge paused. She tugged on it and made room for him in between her and Donald.  

Scrooge hesitated for a long moment, so much so that Della began to let go of his sleeve. But he clasped her hand instead, squeezing it gently, before releasing it to fix the blanket they had inexplicably tangled about themselves. 

He sat down between them, tucking the blanket around the three of them, and watched the flickering television as happier times played out before him. Scrooge was startled by the sudden weight against his side, and looked down to see Della curled up beside him, her cheek pressed against his arm. And on his other side, as if Donald had sensed the presence of another warm body, was his nephew nestling against him. 

Again, Scrooge was unsure of what to do, though this time his uncertainty lasted only briefly. He gathered his niece and nephew close in his arms, closing his eyes and listening to the sound of their soft breathing mingling with the voices of ghosts on the television. 

In moments, he joined them in sleep.    
  


**Author's Note:**

> Let me know what you thought in the comments below!


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